Game of Light in Shadows

                                                                                       image by Juan Sanchez

what is this blood, colonialist 

trying to bring me down

it is a part of me yet

it resists me

as part of 

my mother is waiting

for me to discover...
her, myself

for me to close down

the house of slaves

I built on every port

ancient and new

past and present

all the same

my children toiling

forbidden to read

forbidden to know

the glory of the word

the word from all around

360 degrees

forbidden to breathe

instead...

a day

of

mono

syllabic

sounds

a day 

to bring

them

down

unfamiliar sounds

bring them down

cut

their feet

no where to grow

stumped

they dream

of being

precious

again

being who they are

sitiing in a room

with no paper

to write on

no pencils

to create

to create

beauty words

words to document

beauty lives

beauty sounds

goosebumps of joy

feet full of sweet meat

brown caramel toes

to feel to walk to dance

with story, with purpose

with history with pain

My mother is waiting

for me

me,

in a house

of slaves

a house

modern and pristine

lux with distraction

things things

none of which

belong to me

all past my arms reach

a game of light in shadows

an unforgiving illusion

"La Oveja Negra"

48"x60"

Mixed Media Collograph print on arches paper

by Julia Lopez
Photo by Tony Rocco

"Graciela"

Excerpt

written by Julia Lopez

Scene 4

Martina

(After Singing Crisitina Aguilera’s“Beautiful”)

Stupid. (Confronting the audience)

Do you know who I am? I am la oveja negra, the black sheep of the family. Ah ha! I know some Spanish. O v e j a negra. Your misguided, misunderstood, sometimes clandestine, pitiful negrita. Not your little black lovely lovely one. No, the negra nobody wants because she’s bad and she’s too black. Wears black clothes, has black shiny finger nails, listens to black music, talks black talk, curses in black, she says fuck you, fuck this, I don’t give a fuck, and she won’t tell what she really means.

(She pauses and finds the scar on the back side of her right arm.)

See this scar…11 black stitches…it took 11. trying to shock I threw myself out of a window…after he… punched me in the head. No. He chased me down the hallway into Nina’s room. She and mom were on the bed, huddled together, holding each other and the wall, for dear life. I couldn’t get the window open. I swear he was in the kitchen looking for a knife. Seriously I thought he was going to…the window was jammed, it seemed like it. Manny looked like one of those evil looking medieval gargoyle beasts perched at the tops of the castle entryways. They were supposed to scare off the evil spirits. I was the evil one? I slammed my wrist through the window pain then thoughtlessly pulled it back into my body. That was a mistake. (Looking at arm)

Everything turned black that day…She walks with a black cloud around her head. Covers all her flesh in black. She has black scars, black scratches on her neck, black bruises on her belly, and has a black crooked walk.

(Martina finds a miniature black box in her pocket. She examines it and smiles with irony. She then recites from Emily Dickinson Collected Poems number XI (Barnes and Noble Books)

“Much madness is divinist sense

to a discerning eye;

Much sense the starkest madness.

‘T is the majority

in this as all prevails.

Assent, and you are sane;

Demur,-you’re straightway dangerous,

And handled with a chain.

love poem

                                                                                 LA, 2010

I can see    
the stars
the sky is dark
and if I just
face forward
it would be
just you and me


sound of your water
pushing up against me
pushing up
against the
sand and earth


It rained
while we were
eating
the sand is wet
I can
see you
moving swaying
hitting up
against me
my ears are happy
to see you
hear you again


at nite
you are more
alive
more you


not may witnesses
onlookers
pushing you
making noise
too new
too unnatural
modern sounds
your sound
is a million years
old


the darkeness

helps me
remember
you are rough
sometimes
unpredictable
all times
I think I know you
then you change
why do I bother
to leave you
to say goodbye...
just keep
coming back
same circle
and
always sad
when it ends


I keep trying
to run away
from you from me
I love you


every one of us
our own path...
yours is everlasting
you are always in
front of the
moon
in front of me

Smart Head

Smart head
beat down
starts young






you can't understand
the pain inside
all alone in a crowd
the brain moves
to different places
a zillion thoughts
competing for
one-spaces, the
hands get lost
don't know where
to stand
the eyes close
light too strong
too brite too dark
cant compete
smart head
it used to be
smart head
smart head
used to be
you loved me
loved me
smart head
beat down
starts young
you can't understand
the wire crossed
left right
never to meet
meet too much
in between me
and you
a zillion tears
don't know why
com.
   .
   .
not working
not working
trying too hard
to explain what
goes on in my brain
a zillion...
electric
competing
freezing
seizing
all reasons
to help
me move forward
you gotta focus
they say
focusfocusfocus
its easy, here
are a zillion
ways to organize
your self
more electric
shock thought
running bouncing
running through
my twisted fingers
pain shoots
up down
arms and legs
tense
with the trying
smart head
hurts
beat down
starts young
you cant understand
the pain inside
all alone
in the crowd
smart head
sometimes
i wish
for stupid
slow
oblivious
not caring
empty
no conscious
ness
unknowing
where
easy hard \
doesn't exist\
it is
thats all
all
straight forward
                  smart head
                  beat down
                  starts young
                  the pain inside
                  can't hide
                  from myself
                  smart head
                  head
                  wins

ReVisit

Carlos And What Happens When Flying JL
10/12/09

Draft 2-today

what can be given
that would be enough
you showed your self
released your you
for one moment
un momento
pueda que sea suficiente
para tener esperanza
tener fe en el amor
que tienes adentro
en el amor
sin condiciones
eres tu
un momento

14 dias de ser
No el que
That blurs reality
With the drugs of the colonizers;
Alcohol relentless
Relentless doubt
The trick that lands
Us in a cage
A delirious fist
That lands in the gut of
A police…man
The cop el policia
Que representa
Todo que no funciona
En tu vida
En su familia
Te conozco
Sin saber
Tu historia
un pedacito de tu cuento

Con tus ojos
Plucked cejas
Un abrazo
Eres mi hermano
Mi hijo
Conozco tu dolor
Tu deseo
De conectarse
Con otro, otra
Sin prejuicio
De ser aceptado
Reconciendo las ternura
De tu viaje
Tu sonrisa
Brazos abiertos
No queria dejarte
solo
you and Juarez
on my skin
still



La Oveja Negra
mixed media on paper by JL



Graciela excerpt from the play by JL

Scene 4

Martina
After Singing to Crisitina Aguilera’s“Beautiful”

Stupid. Confronting the audience
Do you know who I am? I am la oveja negra, the black sheep of the family. Ah ha! I know some Spanish. O v e j a negra. Your misguided, misunderstood, sometimes clandestine, pitiful negrita. Not your little black lovely lovely one. No, the negra nobody wants because she’s bad and she’s too black. Wears black clothes, has black shiny finger nails, listens to black music, talks black talk, curses in black, she says fuck you, fuck this, I don’t give a fuck, and she won’t tell what she really means.
She pauses and finds the scar on the back side of her right arm.

See this scar…11 black stitches…it took 11. trying to shock I threw myself out of a window…after he… punched me in the head. No. He chased me down the hallway into Nina’s room. She and mom were on the bed, huddled together, holding each other and the wall, for dear life. I couldn’t get the window open. I swear he was in the kitchen looking for a knife. Seriously I thought he was going to…the window was jammed, it seemed like it. Manny looked like one of those evil looking medieval gargoyle beasts perched at the tops of the castle entryways. They were supposed to scare off the evil spirits. I was the evil one? I slammed my wrist through the window pain then thoughtlessly pulled it back into my body. That was a mistake. Looking at arm
Everything turned black that day…She walks with a black cloud around her head. Covers all her flesh in black. She has black scars, black scratches on her neck, black bruises on her belly, and has a black crooked walk.
Martina finds a miniature black box in her pocket. She examines it, open the box, pulls out a folded faded piece of paper, unfolds and reads then smiles with irony. She then recites what she has read, a poem by Emily Dickinson 

“Much madness is divinist sense
to a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
‘T is the majority
in this as all prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,-you’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

750 WORDS

 moon rising-jlopez

i start with the white owl 
in the plaza, oaxaca, mexico.
sitting close, next to jorge, another dream. his mouth tasted like puerto rico, tasted like wood, like burning embers in the road, tasted like the south bronx. he said that it was not a usual site. the white owl, never in the trees, in the plaza. the white owl looked me dead in the eyes, for a long time, for what seemed like forever, then i watched him swoop down and pounce, grabbing the scurrying mouse, the owl was hungry and when you are hungry you do un usual things. you do unusual things, when you are happy, when you are sad, when you are desperate, when you believe the moment you are in.
i move on...to the boy who said he was the prodigy of God. he had a crooked penis, that all of the girls at school talked about. so i immediately walked toward him and stayed. he stayed left returned stayed left and returned and i was at his beck and call. another dream. i don't remember him tasting like anything but he was the first boy to bring me a tree for Christmas. a natural born tree not plastic like the trees we always had as kids. we...my brother and sisters. never green, sometimes white or blue, always plastic. during m time with the prodigal son of God, I had a moment. the last defining moment. it was a moment of eternal bleeding. i bled i bled and it wouldn't stop. the emergency room doctors came round, when it was my turn, rushed me into surgery, i didn't understand why...and that is a lie. i thought the ball of blood that dropped into the toilet bowl was a child never to be born. the stitches would disappear on their own. dissolve. it would be as if they were never there. They would live inside of me forever and i will have never seen them. an awful sentence, awful words to put together.
i end today as i started, distracted, distracted reliving remembering the two moments. two boys and things i remember today, to start. i don't feel like counting the words.
This is where i end.